For the past year or so, I had been rehearsing for this dramatic entrance into Alexandria, Virginia’s social world, practicing my walk, my posture, and shaping my smile. My mother’s busybody friends surely would fan their heated faces harder once they saw me grown and developed, my sexuality revealed, I thought. Men would turn their heads quickly as I passed by. Some would suffer neck strain. All the daughters of other people, especially my parents’ friends, would gasp so hard with envy that they might pee in their knickers. My closest friends certainly would. Daisy’s eyes would shed green tears, even though we were best friends.

“What’s wrong with the dresses I have?” my mother asked. “I don’t think it’s necessary to put on airs, especially for your board chairman and his . . .” She looked at me and checked herself. “Woman,” she added, exploiting the underlying suggestions whispered in the circles of polite society. Everyone my mother knew talked about Lucy Wexler’s coquettish ways. There was even substantial gossip about assignations with secret extramarital lovers hovering in shadows. She had two nannies alternating to care for her eight- and six-year-old boys, supposedly so she would have time for all this indiscretion. I thought it was the most exciting topic of my mother’s frequent gossip sessions.

“It’s really not putting on airs to be in fashion, Rosemary.”

“My clothing is still in fashion, Harrington.”

“Whatever you think is right to wear, certainly.”

“Well, I need a formal dress. I have nothing for such an event, and it’s time I did,” I said, nearly stamping my right foot for emphasis. I was afraid my mother might successfully stop me. “Right, Daddy?”

“Yes, it’s time you had something more in style, more fitting for your age,” he said, nodding. “Don’t you agree, Rosemary?”

“What’s in style today is ridiculous and in some instances obscene,” she said, “especially for young girls.”

My father didn’t change expression or look like he would change his mind. My mother sighed at the sight of another defeat. The words almost appeared on her forehead: Why bother anymore? Except I still have my own pride.

“Now that you’re determined to do this, yes, I’d better come along and make sure you don’t buy her something that would make us look foolish,” she added, and left the living room, for a moment taking all the air out with her.

My father gazed after her, shaking his head. Love had become pity, I thought, but I quickly brushed it all out of my mind. That wasn’t important now. I had lots of more important things to consider, headed by hair and nails and a new, more sophisticated fragrance.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, rushing into his arms.